


Into the Fire

by Hawkefeathers



Series: Moments In Time [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Amnesia, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 13:19:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8103955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hawkefeathers/pseuds/Hawkefeathers
Summary: Fire, blood, pain.
These are the things that fill the empty void of his memory. It was like he was born in those flames, birthed in terrible agony and close to death. As hard as he tries, he can’t see past that wall of fire in his mind to find the man he’s supposed to be.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A response to a prompt on tumblr.

Fire, blood, _pain_.

These are the things that fill the empty void of his memory. It was like he was born in those flames, birthed in terrible agony and close to death. As hard as he tries, he can’t see past that wall of fire in his mind to find the man he’s supposed to be. 

He doesn’t remember how he escaped that terrible disaster, haunted by the nagging drive to _escape, flee, can’t let them find me_. 

There’s nothing on him to give him a clue about his identity. The uniform is charred and doesn’t bear any identifying marks aside from an emblem that he later learns is the symbol of Overwatch. His face is too badly damaged to try and compare to those reported missing in the explosion, and he has no idea where to start.

He is a man without a name, without a past. But he knows what to do with his future.

Overwatch. The uniform is a clue that he belonged there, before everything was destroyed. So he decides to start there. The world moves on too quickly and he’s suspicious. Barely a year and the remains of Overwatch are shut down, its leaders buried and the survivors scattered. Nobody is brought to justice for the attack, no blame is cast.

Something isn’t right.

So he becomes Soldier: 76. The number is tattooed on his arm below a bar-code, and it’s just another mystery about the man that came before the flames. He has no idea what it means, but something tells him that it’s important. He raids old Overwatch facilities and builds a stockpile of weapons and tech to aid him in his endeavors. The pulse-rifle is a familiar weight in his hand, something his body remembers when his mind cannot.

He continues on in this manner for years, digging deeper to the answer for a question he can’t remember. 

And then Reaper appears.

His stolen visor can’t get a firm read on his enemy and it immediately sets him on edge. The figure taunts and teases him, punctuating his words with shot-gun blasts that punch through the night air. He’s encountered him before, but never up close, and it’s clear that he’s outmatched. One slip-up is all it takes for one of those guns to hit its mark and then 76 is down. He is at Reaper’s mercy now.

And Reaper is a man known for having none.

Reaper’s voice is thick with the smoke that twists around his form as he laughs and pins 76 to the ground with a knee to his chest. “It was fun, but the game is over. Let’s see who you are before I kill you.”

Part of him wonders if this Reaper would recognize him. That same part urges him to struggle even as his visor and mask are lifted from his face.

He doesn’t expect Reaper to freeze. The wraith is clutching his mask so hard that the visor shatters in a shower of red glass. 

Neither of them move.

“…Jack?”

The name startles him. Flames tickle at the back of his mind as Reaper closes his other hand around his throat, claws threatening to break the skin.

“Jack _fucking_ Morrison, alive and in the flesh. Why am I not surprised?”

Morrison. 76 knows that name. But that can’t be right. Morrison is too important, too prominent a figure to just wander out of a fire without anyone looking for him. Morrison was dead and buried.

“You’ve got the wrong guy.”

The claws dig in and the fire behind 76′s eyes grows.

“Oh? Then tell me, who _are_ you?” From Reaper’s voice it’s clear that he doesn’t believe him. Reaper seems pretty convinced that he’s Morrison, and 76 wants to believe it, put the mystery to rest. But Morrison’s corpse is resting six feet under. It’s not possible.

“I don’t know. But I’m not Morrison.”

Reaper pulls him up by the throat only to slam his head back onto the hard concrete. He’s snarling, shredding the skin under his claws. 

“ _Don’t bullshit me, Jack!_ I’d recognize that face no matter how fucked up it is! And you know why?”

Reaper drops 76′s mask only to wrench off his own, staring down at him with eyes that glow like burning embers. Like the fires that dance at the back of his mind, consuming his thoughts and making it hard to think.

“Take a good look at your old _amigo_ Reyes!”

He knows the man, Reyes, expects recognition. But there’s nothing. Nothing but flames and blood and searing pain screaming through his mind. Reyes’ eyes are wild as he suddenly seems to realize.

“I have no idea who you are.”

The sound Reyes lets out tears through him right down to his core. It’s a violent mix of emotions; anger, pain, despair. 76 can’t understand why. 

All he can see are the flames.


End file.
